Chapter Two

Well, I had this finished a little bit ago, but Blogger wasn't letting me add posts. I've had some pretty good days, and actually did over 2,000 words a day on Saturday and Sunday.

Chapter Two
On the Trail

The office of Night Owl Investigations was not well marked. Only a small metal plaque that announced the business and pointed up a darkened flight of stairs was visible from Seventh Avenue, where the firm was located. It seemed that in order to hire this private detective firm, one had to also be a bit of a sleuth. The man had passed the building a couple times before he had finally found the small plaque. The address hadn’t been marked on the door, either. It was almost as if the company didn’t want to be found. But then again, in this world, where the long nights were always too short, you didn’t want to be found. Or found out.

The man pulls his black duster closer, but he does this out of habit rather than to avoid the bitterly cold November wind. Cold or rainy weather no longer bothered him; in fact it hadn’t bothered him in over two hundred years. For the man was actually no longer human, but rather one of the undead creatures that proudly called themselves Kindred, but were more familiarly known to mere mortals as the blood-drinking creatures called vampires.

After pulling open the metal and glass door to the stairs, the man begins his ascent towards the company. The stairs were carpeted with a brown carpet so thin that the speckled padding showed through in spots, and the drab beige paint on the narrow walls in the hallway was peeling off in long strips. But he wasn’t hiring this firm based on how nice the building was. No, he was hiring the small firm for two reasons: one, he was one of the best at digging up information on people, and two, because like him, the owner of the firm was a fellow Kindred. Sure, he was of another bloodline of Kindred or “Clan”, but his Clan, the Nosferatu were well known among the Kindred as the most skilled at gathering information. As an ex-cop, this particular Nosferatu, who had discarded his mortal persona for the name Malik, was one of the best.

If a Kindred in Seattle wanted information, or needed someone found, they went to him, because his success rate was about 85%, far better than the clearance rate of most human police detectives. But for a Nossie, he was pretty quirky. First of all, he insisted on pronouncing his name as “Mah-leek” instead of the more predatory sounding “Malick”. Secondly, he was a big fan of Humphrey Bogart and old thirties films. In fact, sometimes he would use his vampiric powers to make himself look like the handsome actor. But you couldn’t really blame him. There were thirteen distinct Clans among the Kindred, and with each Clan came a different curse. For the Nosferatu, it was a disfigurement of the face and body so bad that many no longer could pass as a human without either the use of either vampiric powers or a really good disguise.

The top of the stairs boasted only a single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. At the landing, there were three doors of age-darkened and unpainted wood, each marked with a pair of numbers painted in faded gold. The address of Night Owl was 13. For some, a very unlucky number, but Malik must not have been superstitious, because he could have easily chosen one of the other two offices, as both were marked with fading “For Lease” signs.

The man opens door number 13. He doesn’t bother to knock. Malik was expecting him, after all. He then looks around the tiny reception area. Except for the presence of the modern PC on the tiny battle-scarred desk, it looked like it could have been the set for an old detective movie. Two framed movie posters graced the stark white walls that were now so dingy as to be almost gray. One was for the Maltese Falcon, one of Bogart’s signature roles, and the other was for another movie of his, The Big Sleep. He played detectives in both movies. The man studies the posters for a long while, and therefore does not notice the other creature’s presence right away.

“Evenin’ Greywolf.” The man turns around to behold the creature that is Malik. He was not hiding his true form with vampiric powers, but instead wearing a tan trench coat with large tan plastic buttons and belted at the waist, much like the coat Humphrey Bogart wore in his famous role as Sam Spade. But underneath the coat, Greywolf glimpsed green-tinged skin. And while Malik’s face was normal looking, his skin was green, and short black hairs sprouted from random spots on his head, neck, and even his ears.

Greywolf bows slightly, a show of respect for being invited into the Nosferatu’s domain. “Good evening Malik.” He replies.

Malik gestures toward the curved archway near to the Maltese Falcon poster. “Step into my office, and we can get started.” Greywolf moves toward the archway with a fluid movement belying a warrior’s grace and discipline. Once upon a time, Greywolf had been a soldier, a French Musketeer, to be exact, and in honor of that, he wore his pale blonde hair pulled back into a topknot.

Surprisingly, Malik’s office was actually slightly smaller than the area that served as the waiting room. The oak desk took up the majority of the space, leaving just barely enough room for three chairs, one behind the desk and the other two in front of it. An old manual Smith-Corona typewriter sat on the desk, sharing the space with a phone and a more modern laptop. Greywolf waits for Malik to take his seat behind the desk before sitting down in the chair directly facing Malik. The wood chair offered little padding and no real comfort. But again, he wasn’t here for a comfortable chair. He wanted information.

“So Greywolf, what can I do for you?”

Greywolf reaches into a pocket of his duster and removes a dirty rectangle of paper. “I need some information on someone. I want a full history, including what your cop buddies have to say about this person.” He reaches across the expanse of the desk to hand it to the Nosferatu.

Malik looks at the card. The card must have fallen on the ground at some point, because there were telltale mud stains that marred the once pristine white surface. He flips it over. The first thing that catches his eye is the crown logo, which he instantly recognizes as the seal of King County. A County employee. He then reads the card. King County Office of the Public Defender; Mara Ravenclaw, Attorney.

Ravenclaw. Malik had heard of her, actually. The friends he still had on the force called her a bitch on wheels. She was a really good attorney. She helped quite a few of her clients beat the charges against them. Of course, it did help that there was enough evidence available to establish reasonable doubt. It also helped that didn’t go to court a lot, as she negotiated a lot of plea bargains or swapped testimony for immunity. She played the game well, and there were few cops or Assistant District Attorneys that enjoyed the prospect of tangling with her, or the other female P.D. Renee Choi. And none of them wanted to ever consider the unpleasant prospect of going up against BOTH of them at the same time. Fortunately though, the only time two P.D.s served as co-counsel was during a capital murder case, and thankfully, there were very few of those types of clients who either couldn’t afford counsel or get a private attorney to work for them pro-bono. There was lots of glory to be had for the winner of those sorts of cases, and fame and notoriety for the loser.

“You’ve chosen a very interesting subject, Greywolf.” Malik replies, handing back the stained business card. Ms. Ravenclaw is well known among the police as being a very tough lawyer to go up against. She always tries to do right by her clients, even when they’re guilty, and is one of the best at negotiating with the D.A.’s office.” Malik turns his attention to the computer on his desk, and opens his specialized search software. He begins to rapidly tap at the keys with two fingers, entering the woman’s name and revealing that he had probably never taken a typing course during his years as a mortal police detective, or bothered to learn after he had joined the ranks of the undead.

The first try reveals very little on Mara Ravenclaw. Even her driving record didn’t go farther back than the late 80’s. “This is odd.” Malik offers. “Up until about eight years ago, Mara Ravenclaw didn’t exist.” He starts to type in another sequence of keys to do a cross-reference. “Ah, here’s why: she legally changed her name from Marie Rothchild to Mara Ravenclaw in 1986.”

Greywolf strokes his chin. “Rothchild?” He asks Malik in mock surprise. He’d heard her address one of the dead as “father”, and judging by her age, Greywolf had surmised that she had to be addressing Marcus Rothchild, because the other residents of the crypt had died before she was even born. “As in the Seattle Rothchild Family? I thought the last member was Marcus Rothchild, and he died several years ago. Accidental overdose, if I recall.”

“You’re familiar with the family, then?” Malik asks, accessing the local newspaper archives in an attempt to find reference to the man’s death.

“Anyone who’s lived in Seattle for as long as I have is quite aware of who they are.” Greywolf replies. “The family helped build the city. They made a fortune in real estate and land speculation and they were well known as patrons of the arts and education.”

Malik nods. He wasn’t familiar with the name, but then again, he generally didn’t know a lot of mortals that didn’t have a long rap sheet. “Marcus Rothchild, head counsel for Boeing Corporation was survived by a daughter, Marie,” he reads off the screen. “She was about 16 at the time of his death. She’s listed as the only surviving relative.”

Greywolf smiles inwardly. He’d broken into the County’s personnel office and learned that the woman had no living relatives, and Malik had now confirmed this. This was a good thing, because it meant that the woman had no ties to the community besides her coworkers, so if properly timed, her disappearance would not be immediately noticed.

“Marie Rothchild was born here in Seattle. November 13, 1966.” Malik looks again at the screen. His search for the name Marcus Rothchild had pulled up more articles in the local paper than just the man’s obituary. The most tantalizing of the headlines read simply “Wealthy socialite dies in fall.” He opens the article and begins to scan it. “And it seems that her mother, Diana, died falling down a flight of stairs. Based on the date of this article, it means that Ms. Ravenclaw was about 13 when her mom died.”

Her mother. That was whom Mara had come to see at the cemetery. “Let me see a copy of the article.”

Malik nods and clicks the Print option. Within a couple minutes, two pages appear on the printer, which he hands over to Greywolf. Greywolf scans the article. She had died falling down the stairs. Police ruled the death accidental after speaking with the husband. Sounded rather suspicious, really. Like maybe the husband had pushed her down the stairs and thus gotten away with murder, or at least manslaughter.

Malik goes back to searching for articles on Mara Ravenclaw. In addition to the tiny name change notice, he finds a number of articles. Most of them of course, were regarding her involvement on some case, but there were a couple that showed her in attendance at a charity event. “Hmm…it seems our Ms. Ravenclaw likes to attend charity events.”

Greywolf seems a bit more interested now. “What sort of events?” He asks.

Malik scans the articles. “It looks like she’s interested in women’s causes. She’s attended a number of events to benefit victims of domestic violence. She also attended a breast cancer charity auction, and attended a gala for Court Appointed Special Advocates for children. She’s also been named as a thousand-dollar donor for W.E.A.V.E. Rather generous, considering a civil servant’s pay.”

Greywolf scratches his chin again, considering what he had learned about his quarry. So she donates money to help prevent domestic violence. She works for the Public Defender’s office, even though her father had been a prominent corporate attorney. It seemed then she would be a worthy candidate after all. Even so, he intended to watch her for a time. Just to be certain.

Greywolf rises from the uncomfortable chair, and reaches into the pocket of his duster. “Thanks for your help, Malik.” He tosses a wad of cash on the desk, and knows without counting it that it was exactly the amount they had agreed upon, because he had counted it out earlier that evening.
Malik watches the Brujah named Greywolf leave his office, and tucks the money away in his wallet. “Not bad for a half-hour’s worth of surfing and research that didn’t even require me to leave the office.” He remarks to the bare wall. “Though I wonder why he’s so interested in this Ravenclaw woman?” A hint of a smile breaks through the stony exterior of his greenish skin. “Perhaps I should find out. The information could prove valuable.”